


The Spring of Fading Hopes

by enlili



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Cares About Jaskier | Dandelion, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, They are both soft, Witch - Freeform, but not really, maybe kind of bittersweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25769197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enlili/pseuds/enlili
Summary: when the witch takes away Jaskier's emotions, Geralt does everything he can to get them back
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 185





	The Spring of Fading Hopes

**Author's Note:**

> so, i finally decided to write something in this fandom (yay me!)  
> hope you like it!  
> also English is not my mother tongue so there might be mistakes but don't let that spoil you fun!  
> enjoy!

Spring comes much later than it should be expected. Winter drags for months and everyone just wishes for it to end. It is harsh and the snow, which has been falling for days, is covering each and every road. People hide in their wooden houses, hoping to avoid the frost, hoping that the fireplace will warm them, their bodies and hearts. There are people who travel, crossing lands. Some of them by horse, some of them on foot. Some of them have already frozen on paths or in forests; their dead bodies never found and forgotten as if they’ve never even existed.

But the atrocious winter has passed, and people never mention of it again, wanting to erase all the wrongdoing it has caused.

Spring is utterly different. The rays of the sun, that are slowly peeping out through the trees, are a new companion to Geralt, who is travelling with Jaskier, wanting to get to Novigrad as fast as he can. The perspective of a new job is very appealing, especially after such a tough winter. The witcher is counting on it, taking into consideration the money he so desperately needs.

He rides Roach for another mile of that day, only sometimes slowing the pace to wait for Jaskier who’s clearly not in a rush. He is telling himself over and over again that he is not interested, and he cares not, but he is a little worried for the bard’s behaviour has been a bit odd lately. He acts like not himself, not like the frivolous bard, who is always around, and whom Geralt seems to know so well.

Jaskier is quiet. He hasn’t spoken for several hours now. Not a word. He isn’t singing nor humming. He isn’t making any sounds. The only clue Geralt has that he is still following him is the occasional sound of his boots hitting the muddy ground or the kick he aims at stones lying on the road. Geralt has to turn in the saddle several times just to check if Jaskier is still there. Not that he cares about it.

It’s not that he doesn’t want this silence. Oh, no. The silence is one of a few things he actually desires. A true privilege of royal ones. He can focus his mind, hear steps of his horse and listen if someone unwanted is coming near them. There is something disturbing in this silence, however. Maybe it’s the fact that the mouth of the bard are rarely closed for longer than several seconds, maybe it’s the lack of his singing, which captures hearts and minds alike, or maybe it’s just lack of him describing every single damn thing, regardless of it if he aims the words at Geralt or Roach. The witcher knows that the silence is rarely reaching out to him, but he thinks that if he were to grab this one, it would consume him alive.

The lute has been hanging on his arm for a couple of days now. He takes it off only for a night, laying it close to himself when he sleeps just so he can hang in again in the morning and carry for the next hours. He doesn’t look at it with awe in his eyes, he doesn’t praise it for being the greatest present he has ever received. He does not use it anymore. If Geralt pondered for a little while longer, he would notice that he hasn’t heard the sounds of the instrument in nearly a month, let alone the singing voice of the bard.

The next thing that starts to concern him is the fact that when he looks into Jaskier’s eyes, they seem empty. There is no twinkling nor a sparkle of joy that suits his face so well, makes it happier and more beautiful. Even in danger, there is no flash of fright in them. Only ever the same picture of indifference that Geralt hasn’t seen on many faces apart from his own. So, he starts to wonder more and more frequently what happened to the bard and why he changed so much. Not that he cares about it.

* * *

He comes up with a mere idea a couple of days later when they are sitting by the fire. The rain stopped pouring some time ago and, though the ground is still wet, Geralt manages to build the fire and hunt a rabbit so they can eat.

Jaskier sits opposite Geralt, chewing his rabbit’s ration quietly and peacefully as if he thinks deeply about every bite he takes. He sits, resting his elbows on his knees, looking numbly at the meat.

Geralt wouldn’t admit it even if a sword touched his throat, but he finds himself missing the bard’s laugh and his constant prattle.

His dwelling has been fruitless so far. This evening though, when he looks at the Jaskier out of the corner of his eye, to his head comes another thought. He recollects the situation that took place in the last moments of winter. They met a witch then. She was horrifying. She threated them that if Geralt doesn’t do what she asked of him, they will know her vengeance. She tempted him to join her, to wreak havoc with her in the cities and villages. A witcher and a witch, Geralt thought then, what a pair. When Geralt didn’t speak a word and didn’t bow down to her like she told him to, she went berserk. Her wrath wasn’t aimed at Geralt, though, but at Jaskier who was trying to wait the whole situation out behind Geralt’s shoulder.

“You’ll pay for this,” she screamed, her voice screeching. “You’ll regret it, the both of you… although, you have nothing to lose for you have nothing at all,” she said to Geralt. “The cold that’s inside you could put many winters to shame. But you, pretty as a flower and fragile as one,” the witch pointed at the bard, “You have more, much more, have you not? And so, the witcher has nothing to pay for his disobedience and I have to claim my meed, it seems as you’re the one who’ll give me what is mine.” She stood before them, old, ugly and cunning, wanting to appear as a much different being. Then she raised her hand and took a step closer to the bard, pulling Geralt away with a sudden move of her hand, with a force much stronger than the witcher expected that he ended up lying on the ground a few metres to the left. “I’ll take what’s the most precious,” she screamed. “I’ll take what’s most precious you have, and you do not even realise that it is valuable in you!”

She waved her hand without any grace in front of the frightened Jaskier and then she turned and disappeared, leaving the bard, kneeling on the ground and shaking with fear.

Geralt ran to him a second later and put a hand on his shoulder, “Are you alright?”

Jaskier looked up at him, his sight seemed alien and strange. Then he stood up and flicked the dirt from his clothes, “Let’s go, shall we?” That was the last thing he said to the witcher that day.

He hasn’t said much more ever since.

And now, at least a small part is clear to Geralt. He has an answer he’s been looking for for some time. And okay, maybe he cares, but only a little. Now, though, he doesn’t know what to do next.

* * *

Jaskier speeds up so that he can catch up with Geralt who rides his mare. The distance to Novigrad is not getting shorter, not really, but they aren’t lost, that’s for sure.

“Geralt?” he asks quietly, seeming startled by his own voice.

“Hm?”

“Are you so cold as well?”

Geralt looks at him, his brows rising. Indeed, Jaskier is rubbing his palms, trying to create some warmth. Palms that are nearly purple with cold. He is shaking and tries to wrap himself up in his clothes but it’s not enough. Geralt is not cold nor the bard should be. The temperature is rising every day, the sun shines stronger. Spring is here.

He looks at him and, if someone didn’t know him, they could tell that there was a concern in his eyes. He stops Roach and grabs a blanket that the mare is carrying with her and gives it to Jaskier. “Think you can continue walking?” he asks, trying very hard not to show the worry in his voice. The moment the words are leaving his lips, he knows he fails miserably.

“I… I mean… I...”

Geralt doesn’t wait any longer. He jumps off the horse and picks up the bard, sitting him down in the saddle. Jaskier looks at him, his sight still is indifferent, even if he tries so hard to change it. Geralt jumps on Roach behind him, covering him with blanket the best he can and pressing his chest to Jaskier’s back, trying to provide him all the possible warmth.

“What about Roach?” Jaskier asks after a while, right when the mare voices her dissatisfaction with their weight.

“She’ll manage. She’s been through worse. Try to calm down,” Geralt tells him, putting his arm around Jaskier’s waist so the bard won’t fall to the ground. “We have to get to an inn the fastest we can so we can warm you up, alright?”

“What’s happening to me?” the bard asks quietly, his icy hand holding the witcher’s arm.

“I am not exactly sure I know,” Geralt answers candidly with sadness in his deep voice, and then he urges the horse to run to the nearest town.

* * *

In the room Geralt lays Jaskier on the bed and covers him with a quilt and a blanket and with any fabric he can find. When Jaskier falls asleep, the witcher looks at him for a long moment, brushes his hair form his forehead, grabs his swords, lying next to the lute, and walks out of there.

He leaves the inn, asking owner’s daughter beforehand to check on Jaskier from time to time to see if everything is fine. There are no clouds on the sky now, the wind is strong, and the trees bow to him and move with its momentum. He jumps on Roach and rides in the direction that they came from, racing and wishing it is not too late.

Maybe an hour later, maybe a few, he stands in the middle of a small clearing, praying to whoever will listen to him that the place is good enough.

“Witch!” he shouts. “I know you hear me! I know you want to hear me! I cry to you, show yourself to me! I know you desire this!”

He doesn’t move then, listening to the wind and searching for the sounds confirming her appearance.

“I would have expected everyone, but you, witcher? Don’t you have enough of my wrath? Do you ask for more?”

“What have you done to him?” he asks with desperation in his voice.

“I think you know very well,” she comes closer, standing in front of him. “I only took what is mine.”

“Remove this spell!” She laughs cruelly at that. Geralt grabs his sword in the blink of an eye and points it at her neck. “Remove the fucking spell,” he repeats through his teeth.

“You consider this so simple, don’t you? But of all people you should know that it’s never like this. You want me to tell you that all he has to do is believe in himself or kiss the love of his life? Please, it’s pure nonsense! There has to be a balance in this world, whether you like it or not. You disobeyed me; me, who is superior to you! So, I took the most valuable thing he had, his emotions. They were the essence of him, and now they are mine. I cannot change that; you know that as well.

“Then take something else. Take something of mine and leave him. Please,” he says, not knowing what else to do.

“Kneel before me,” she demands and Geralt willy-nilly does as she says for he sees that there is no other way to help the bard. “I told you then, I have nothing to take from you. There is nothing inside you, you’re just a shell, a void. And you know that what I say is true because I don’t care about you to lie,” she says and stands in silence, and then all of the sudden her eyes widen and her vicious face twists in disbelief. “Oh, my, you do feel something, do you not? Something you haven’t felt in such a long time. I didn’t feel it then for you were not aware of it, but now? Now this feeling is blossoming inside you solid and strong. You feel a great lot of things to that bard. And they say witchers don’t love,” she says, amusement clear in her voice.

Geralt stares at the ground, at the green grass beneath his hurting knees.

“Can you… can you take this feeling from me and give him back his?”

The witch looks at him as if she couldn’t believe.

“They say you’re not noble either. My, my, do they say only lies?”

“Please, give him back what’s his,” he looks into her cruel eyes. “Take what’s mine.”

The witch ponders for too long for his liking, but then she waves her hand in the same movement as she did back then, and disappears again, leaving Geralt alone, kneeling in the middle of nowhere with a hand gripping the sword, Roach nudging his side and an unbelievable void inside that seems to eat and swallow him alive.

* * *

He returns to the inn much slower and later this evening. The weather has closed in. It’s not raining yet but there are clouds that don’t want to show the blue sky nor the setting sun. When he opens the room’s door, there are arms embracing and enveloping him in a hug so strong that he has to take a few steps back. Jaskier pulls away, lets the witcher walk into the room and closes the door behind them.

“I have no idea what you did but it worked. I feel… normal? So, thank you. But it doesn’t change the fact that you left me here alone. Do you know what could have happened to you? To me? You never know what waits for you in this godforsaken place, and you know very well that I’m not one for fight, I don’t know how to defend myself, and I need you… Geralt?” he speaks fast and almost gleeful until he looks into the witcher’s yellow eyes that show distantly, distractedly and… sad? “Geralt?” Jaskier says quietly and approaches the witcher who still stands in the doorstep with his hands by his side. Jaskier puts his hands around Geralt’s waist and hugs him once more, lifting his face to kiss his temple and then his cheek. “Thank you,” he whispers and hides his face in Geralt’s neck, holding him close and inhaling his scent.

Geralt doesn’t move. He feels lost, which doesn’t suit him at all. But when he looks into Jaskier’s bright, shining eyes, he thinks that maybe not everything is lost just yet. The witch took away what the felt for the bard but didn’t say that he couldn’t feel it again. 

Geralt smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
